


flip the script

by nowayout



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF, The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner RPF
Genre: Dumb Boys Who Need To Use Their Words, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, it's barely there i promise, mentions of pretty much the entire TST cast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowayout/pseuds/nowayout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, Dylan muses as he thinks back to all the times he joked about kissing his male co-stars, he supposes he should have guessed that karma would come back to bite him in the ass one day.</p><p>Still, he would say it’s a fairly low blow that fate chose to retaliate by making him actually want to kiss a boy. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flip the script

**Author's Note:**

> I've been promising a sequel to [setting paper hearts on fire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2750576) for almost a year now, and after Comic Con and the press tour I really had no excuse not to write it. I wanted to keep it light and funny but realized after the first 500 words that's not gonna happen (you can blame that on Dylan. Seriously.) because _feelings_. Still, I hope you enjoy this ridiculousness of a fic that got completely out of hand.

In retrospect, Dylan muses as he thinks back to all the times he joked about kissing his male co-stars, he supposes he should have guessed that karma would come back to bite him in the ass one day.

Still, he would say it’s a fairly low blow that fate chose to retaliate by making him actually want to kiss a boy. Again.

~

It’s at their pre-Christmas Christmas party that he cracks.

He had been thinking about it since it happened (twenty-three days ago, but who’s counting) in a distant, non-pressing kind of way, deciding it was better to treat the kiss like the joke that it was and not make a mountain out of a molehill. Thomas never mentioned it again, so Dylan kept his mouth shut too, focusing instead on memorizing his lines and doing his best not to cackle uncontrollably at the most ill-timed moments. But there at the party, pleasantly buzzed, leaning on Will’s shoulder and laughing about nothing in particular, he admits to himself that trying to keep the memory as vague and unimportant as possible had taken a lot of effort, which was more likely than not a problem that he would have to give some serious thought to when he was sober.

Feeling only a little creepy, he lets his eyes scan the room until he finds Thomas nestled on the couch in the opposite corner, talking animatedly to Ki Hong and Chris, his smile wide and the crinkles by his eyes noticeable even from where Dylan is standing. And there it is again, the traitorous voice in Dylan’s head, whispering _adorable_ over and over because of course even the voices in his head would try to make his life harder. He tells the voice to shut up.

It’s not that he feels like he has to watch himself around Thomas now or be extra careful about what he’s saying in order not to cross some line that maybe isn’t even there. That’s not what’s going on; nothing’s changed between them, and any worries Dylan might have had were squashed when Thomas never once rejected any of his impromptu hugs and kept giggling at his jokes no matter how bad they were. They’re okay, Dylan knows that, but at the moment he’s a little on the tipsy side so he doesn’t really trust himself not to do something he would later wish he hadn’t, like walk over to Thomas and ask _hey, remember how you laughed when we kissed_ or _turns out I like kissing you, maybe we could do that again_.

He sighs. There’s a chance he’s already thought about this more than he’d like to admit.

“Alright?”

“Hm?”

Will is frowning down at him, eyes serious and concerned. Dylan pouts. They were supposed to be having fun, not to pull worried faces when nothing’s even wrong, really.

“Yeah, man. I’m good,” he promises nodding vehemently, hand going up to pat Will on the chest. “All good.” Except for how he spent the last three weeks pretending not to think about wanting to kiss Thomas again, but he’s not going to say that out loud. Hopefully.

“Right. So. You two are okay then, yeah?” Will asks, pointing his chin towards the others just as Thomas gets up to let Jacob sit in his place and then perches himself on the arm of the couch.

Suddenly Dylan feels a little nervous because – they’re fine, totally, but if Will thinks they’re fighting or whatever then maybe he’s missing something?

“Yeah, we’re. Yeah. Why – why wouldn’t we be?”

Will huffs out a short laugh. “You’ve been watching him all night, all Edward Cullen-like –”

Dylan cringes. “Please don’t.”

“ – instead of going over there to say something stupid like you always do to make him giggle like you’re the most hilarious person he’s ever met.” He pauses. “You’re not, by the way.”

“Of course not, I know that’s you.” Dylan grins, barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out. He could probably blame it on the alcohol if he did but. Still. Sometimes he actually remembers that he’s an adult. So, instead, he shoves Will and lets Will shove him back, and then there are arms wrapped around torsos and laughter and Dylan feels happy again.

He notices Thomas making his way towards them as Bing Crosby begins to croon _silver bells, silver bells, it's Christmas time in the city_ , feels a smile break over his face before he can do anything to stop it. He’ll blame that on the alcohol too.

“Please tell me you’re leaning on each other because you want to, not because you have to,” Thomas laughs softly.

Will lets out a mock-offended noise and straightens himself – making Dylan almost fall on his face in the process, thanks for the warning, buddy – before saying something about not being a lightweight and then promptly stumbling over Dylan’s foot. He gives Dylan a funny look, but Dylan only grins at him again. Will can’t prove Dylan’s foot hadn’t been there two seconds ago.

“Right then,” Will drawls, eyes sweeping back and forth between Dylan and Thomas in a completely unsubtle manner. “I guess I’ll go sit down for a minute, talk with the guys a bit.” He shoots Dylan another pointed look.

Dylan steadfastly ignores it.

“What’s going on?” Thomas asks with a small smile, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”

For a brief second Dylan wonders if he could get away with saying that he’s tired. Then he remembers that Thomas knows what he’s like when he’s tired, namely even more hyper and bouncy than usual, so, no, it wouldn’t work. Instead, he shrugs, grins sheepishly and decides to tell the truth. Or at least part of it.

“Was just thinking that I’m gonna miss you. Like, I’m happy to go home and I totally plan to enjoy the days off by sleeping till noon, but I’m gonna miss you guys.”

Which isn’t a lie because, as glad as he is that he gets to spend the holidays with his family, he knows that he really is going to miss the cast and crew. And, okay, it isn’t the reason why he hasn’t exactly been himself these past few hours either, but Thomas doesn’t need to know that.

Selective honesty is a thing, Dylan’s read about it.

“This is where you say you’re going to miss me too,” he adds, feeling a little too exposed, self-preservation screaming at him to turn this into a joke.

“I am going to miss you too,” Thomas says, shaking his head but he’s still smiling fondly, and Dylan has to pull him into a hug because he just – it’s just –

It’s overwhelming sometimes, how Thomas just listens to him and humors him and goes along with any joke or prank Dylan can think of. Because the truth is they’re different, they’re not like him and Posey, two overexcited peas in the same pod, and past experience has taught Dylan that he can be a little too – everything, which tends to make people who are quiet and withdrawn dislike him, kind of. He and Thomas shouldn’t be getting along as well as they do, but there’s this pull between them, a palpable chemistry they’ve had since day one and it’s never been – dangerous. Just natural affinity, mutual and genuine. Dylan means it with his whole heart every time he calls Thomas one of his favorite people, and Thomas seems to enjoy their childish moments and inside jokes as much as Dylan does, seems to trust Dylan in a way that reminds him of their characters and – no, he’d rather not go there.

“Say you’re gonna miss me more.”

“I’m going to miss you more,” Thomas repeats obediently, but Dylan can feel him laughing.

“Don’t make fun of me, asshole. I’m opening myself up to you here and you’re laughing at me –”

“I would never,” Thomas assures him, laughing harder.

Dylan huffs. “Let me go,” he says, making no effort to actually pull away. “I’m hurt. Deeply.”

“Well then, I suppose it’s a good thing we won’t be seeing each other for a while. Plenty of time for your hurt feelings to heal.”

The sound of his sharp intake of breath is too loud to Dylan’s own ears. So much for the lighthearted façade, he thinks, patting Thomas on the back before awkwardly pulling away. “Yeah, guess so,” he says, struggling to plaster a smile on his face. He must be doing a pretty shitty job, because Thomas starts to frown at him, looking like he wants to ask what’s wrong and – no, they’re not going back to that. Dylan refuses. So he tries to smile more convincingly, puts a hand on the back of Thomas’s neck and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek.

The thing is, Dylan isn’t particularly good at measuring distances – ever. But now, slightly drunk, he’s even more of a mess. He tells himself he really shouldn’t be surprised that, instead of Thomas’s cheek, his lips land on the corner of his mouth, sort of. His eyes follow, helplessly stuck on Thomas’s parted lips, relearning their familiar shape, their color. Dylan’s alcohol-addled brain tries to convince him that time stops in that moment, just for them. Part of him wants to believe it.

They’re both frozen to the spot for a second or an hour, Dylan can’t tell anymore, but he manages to shake it off first, pulling back with an uneasy chuckle.

“Hah, yeah,” he says nonsensically, rubbing his neck with a trembling hand as he takes a few steps backwards. Thomas is looking at him with wide, dark eyes. “Sorry, man, I’m – uh. Drunker than I thought, I guess. I suck – the whole distance thing, I’m. Yeah.” It’s moments like this that make him wish he could have a better control of his mouth. Or any other moment, really. Another chuckle escapes him; he’s so not drunk enough for this. “I’m gonna – uh. I’m gonna go now.”

Thomas doesn’t say anything.

At some point after midnight, when they all get together to form a line for the group pictures, Dylan finds a safe spot at one end, tucking himself between Jacob and Alex and the tiny crew member standing in front of him. Thomas is at the other end with Ki Hong, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, resolutely looking straight ahead.

At the camera, Dylan reminds himself. Which is where he should be looking too.

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t smile at the right moment.

~

He oversleeps the next morning because he predictably doesn’t hear the alarm and barely has time to grab a piece of toast before going back to his room to hastily throw his clothes in a small suitcase. His mom would be disappointed with his packing technique, he thinks sullenly, giving his shirts a last forlorn look before kneeling on the nondescript beige carpet. Closing the zipper is another struggle in itself.

There’s a car in front of the hotel waiting to take him to the airport and he’s already fifteen minutes late. It makes him feel terrible, he’s not that person who likes to make others wait for him, and it’s especially bad this time because all this could have been avoided if he had awakened on time.

The sudden knock on the door doesn’t even surprise him. He knows it has to be someone from their team, coming to tell him to hurry up.

“I’m almost done, I swear,” he rushes to say as he opens the door, earnest apologies on the tip of his tongue and a mile-long string of _fuckfuckfuck_ on his mind. But then –

“Busy?” Thomas asks with a lopsided smile. He’s slouching, hunched in on himself like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible, hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark jeans.

Great, Dylan thinks. Still awkward, then.

“Uh. Just – just packing,” he stammers, pointing over his shoulder at his overstuffed suitcase. “Come in.”

“Need help?” Thomas asks after he closes the door, and Dylan tries to keep his mind from going back to that night when they were alone and _kissing_ in this hotel room all those weeks ago, but – too late, he’s already thinking about it.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks. What, uh. What’re you doing here?” He flinches as soon as the words leave his mouth. He’s such an idiot, Jesus. “I’m sorry, man, that was so rude.” He turns around to face Thomas. “It’s just, I’m already late and I’m probably gonna miss my flight and my parents will be worried sick and I don’t want them to worry because there’s no reason for them to worry, you know, like, I’m fine, just overslept like a total fucking dumbass and –”

“Dylan.”

“Yeah?”

“You should take a breath.”

“Right.”

He does. Draws in a deep breath, exhales loudly. Notices Thomas’s twitching mouth and the amusement sparkling in his eyes.

They both burst out laughing at the same time.

“Alright,” Thomas chuckles as he rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing off the tousled strands falling over his forehead. “I’ll let you finish your packing then. I just came to wish you a safe flight.”

“Aw, thanks man.” Dylan shoots him an easy grin, reaching out to squeeze Thomas’s shoulder briefly. “You too. I mean, you know. Later. Like.” He pauses, frowning as he looks at the wall behind Thomas. What the fuck is wrong with him. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Thomas says, nodding slightly. The smile he gives Dylan looks pained.

It’s terrible. Everything. They should hug, they always hug when they’re saying goodbye, even when it’s only just for a couple of days, but Dylan can’t – can’t make his legs move, can’t do anything but stare and wonder if maybe he should apologize again for his mistake last night – because it was a mistake, he wouldn’t have –

But before he can gather the courage to open his mouth, Thomas strides over to him, a determined look on his face, and, without warning, gives Dylan a firm peck on the lips.

For a second the world stops turning.

“Take care, Dylan,” Thomas says quickly, flashes another shy smile and leaves before Dylan can ask what is going on.

Before Dylan can react at all.

He stands there in the middle of the room, dumbstruck, glaring at the now closed door while he waits for his heart rate to go down. Confusion and frustration are slowly settling in, bringing with them the telltale signs of a brutal headache that is growing steadily in his temples. As hard as he tries to make sense of what just happened, he can’t form any coherent thoughts. That was – it wasn’t –

What the actual fuck.

What are they doing, what was that supposed to mean –

He drags a hand over his face, shaking his head and sighing deeply. He can’t do this right now. Doesn’t want to, either.

~

His free days are spent with friends and family and too much food. There’s laughter and drunken caroling with Posey and _Home Alone_ , well-meant presents and enough distant relatives walking in and out the door that Dylan doesn’t have to try too hard to keep his mind busy.

He has no contact with Thomas except for a merry Christmas text and a reply, which is – fine, really. Dylan is sure that it’s better if they keep their distance, at least until they can figure out how not to be awkward around each other anymore. And yes, he has to begrudgingly admit he’s reached that pathetic point where he needs them to be on different continents so that he can clear his head.

It doesn’t matter, he’ll get over it. For now, he chooses to lose himself in the ever-present scent of cinnamon and the arms of people he loves and hasn’t seen in months.

He doesn’t have time to worry about wanting things he knows he shouldn’t want.

~

It’s embarrassing, but half of him is glad he doesn’t get to see Thomas as soon as he returns. The other half misses him so much it’s even more embarrassing, but that’s an entirely different story.

There are a few action-packed scenes that he and Ki Hong have to shoot together while the others are finishing their group scenes and most likely freezing because they don’t get to move around that much. Dylan is happy to run and scream until his throat hurts and his voice gets hoarse, focused on giving the best performance he can give, easily reverting to being sixteen and terrified.

He actually feels sixteen and terrified these days.

It’s on the second night that his mouth starts working without his consent again. To be honest, he kind of wants to pat himself on the back for lasting nearly forty-eight hours.

“You seen Thomas?” he asks Ki Hong during a break in which they attempt to warm themselves with cups of coffee. It doesn’t really work.

Ki Hong nods absently, bringing his hands to his mouth to blow a hot breath on them. “Yeah, yesterday. And this morning in make up for, like, five minutes. He was with Kaya and Dex and Alex. I have no idea what those four are always up to, but I think they’re dragging Jacob into it now too.” He grins happily, cheeks bunching up and making his eyes disappear. “Why’d you ask? Something wrong?”

“No, course not.” Dylan shakes his head right away. Nothing’s _wrong_ per se. Only a little – weird. “Just, uh – haven’t talked to him since we got back.”

Ki Hong shrugs easily. “You can talk to him tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. Said we’d all go out for a drink when we finish, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” He vaguely recalls Kaya telling him something along those lines that morning; he supposes he hadn’t been awake enough for the words to sink in. “Okay, cool.”

Ki Hong nudges him with his shoulder. “Dylan,” he says carefully, “you sure everything’s alright?”

Dylan really doesn’t like that careful tone. It’s because he knows Ki Hong means it and he would probably bend over backwards to help if he knew what was going on, except Dylan can’t tell him, can’t explain what’s happening because he’s not sure he understands either. Actually, he’s four thousand percent sure he doesn’t understand a thing.

“Yeah, man,” he says, smiling widely and, judging by Ki Hong’s expression, not fooling anyone. He’s an actor, god damn it, lying convincingly should come easy to him. “Everything’s fine.”

~

A drink turns out to mean hot chocolate and tea, mainly because they’re all supposed to be up early to return on set, but also because they’re basically already drunk with tiredness. They share stories from back home, puzzle pieces falling effortlessly into place as they laugh and tease one another, and Dylan can’t help thinking that this, sitting in a fashionably dimly lit café surrounded by people who were strangers less than two years ago but now mean so much to him – this feels a bit like home too. He almost laughs at himself and his sappy thoughts, but he catches Thomas looking at him, notices his warm smile, and all he can do then is smile back.

And that’s. Well. It’s not what he was expecting. Honestly, he couldn’t be happier that he didn’t get what he’d been expecting.

When they arrived, Thomas took the sit next to Dylan with a grin and a whispered _missed you_ , and that’s where he’s remained all night, a warm presence making Dylan feel comfortable and relaxed and content simply by being there. Like before.

Dylan can’t tell if they’re both just ignoring their last awkward encounter or if they’ve truly moved past it, but it’s so easy to go back to behaving like they used to before things got weird, to crack jokes and retell stories that make Thomas laugh so hard his face turns red, and he doesn’t want ruin what they have now. He doesn’t want to risk losing one of his closest friends.

Which is why, later, when they’re back at the hotel and everybody’s saying goodnight, he wraps Thomas in a bear hug as soon as they’re the only ones left in the hallway to reassure himself – to reassure both of them – that they really are okay this time.

And then it all goes to hell when they pull back and, instead of letting go, they look at each other a little longer than strictly necessary. Dylan thinks it’s his gaze that drops down to Thomas’s lips first, but he can’t be sure because Thomas is looking at his mouth too and apparently that’s something that can make his brain short-circuit. He doesn’t know who leans in first either, not that it matters when their lips start moving together, slowly, tentatively, all teenage innocence and timidity that they should have lost years ago, and suddenly Dylan thinks _yes, this, this should have been our first kiss_.

Gently, he lays a hand on Thomas’s jaw and tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips harder against Thomas’s, just to see how far he’s allowed to go, how far they’re both willing to take this. Almost instantly Thomas puts one hand on Dylan’s hip, the other going to the back of his neck, fingertips digging softly into his skin. Acting on instinct alone, Dylan opens his mouth, letting his tongue glide over Thomas’s bottom lip. He’s still so very careful, doesn’t want to make Thomas feel like he has to do anything he isn’t comfortable with yet, doesn’t want to scare him off. So he waits, excited and scared shitless all at once, until Thomas opens up for him to slide the tip of his tongue into his mouth and deepen the kiss, to finally do what he’s been thinking about for weeks.

He doesn’t expect Thomas to take control right as he buries his fingers in soft blonde hair and tugs experimentally.

But Thomas pushes him against the wall and licks at his mouth until Dylan lets out a groan that even he is surprised by. The hands on his hips are urgent, grip tight and unrelenting, and Dylan can’t help wondering if Thomas even realizes he’s doing it or if it’s an unconscious need, if he’s clinging onto Dylan because he fears that without something to ground him he would begin to question whether this is really happening or he’s losing his mind.

That’s how Dylan feels, at least. If it weren’t for the fingers digging into his hipbones he would think this is all in his head, a moment of weakness in which he allows himself to fantasize about things he promised he wouldn’t want anymore.

But, _God_ , he wants. He wants so much.

They’re both panting when Thomas pulls back to look at him expectantly, dark eyes somehow even darker now. Hesitating a little but deciding that he couldn’t fuck this up more if that’s what he’s doing, Dylan presses their lips together again for a quick second. He needs – needs to make sure things are okay between them.

And then he feels Thomas start to grin against his lips and it’s like the weight crushing his lungs has finally been lifted, the fears blocking his airways fading away like dust in the wind.

“See you in the morning,” Thomas says, slowly walking backwards toward his room.

Dylan nods, doesn’t even try to stop the smile he can feel tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Be ready to run.”

~

It doesn’t become a thing.

So maybe they steal kisses from each other like giggly children when no one’s watching, but it’s just another method they use to make each other laugh and relax. And maybe when they’re on their own, Mario Kart nights end with wandering hands and angry-red lips and Dylan thinking that he doesn’t mind losing when he feels Thomas’s warm tongue in his mouth, but that’s – it doesn’t mean anything.

It really doesn’t.

They’re just – friends with kissing benefits.

~

There are eleven days left until the wrap party when Dylan allows himself to admit that what they have might be a thing.

Inhaling deeply, he lets his head fall on Thomas’s shoulder, forehead pressed into the soft material of his shirt, while Thomas rubs circles on the bare skin of his lower back with gentle fingers. Unable to contain himself, Dylan lets out a chuckle that eventually turns into a hearty laugh. For some reason, in that moment he thinks it’s hilarious that he can get so worked up from making out; he feels thirteen all over again, eager and curious and full of teenage insecurity, but his heart is thumping in a familiar rhythm, the same old melody with different words this time.

“What’s so funny?” Thomas asks, peppering little kisses along his jawline.

Still chuckling, Dylan cups his face, pulls back a little so he can look Thomas in the eye. He’s smiling widely, eyes crinkled at the corners, and Dylan feels his heart lurch into his throat, nervous little thing trying to escape because –

Thomas doesn’t know what is going through Dylan’s head but he’s smiling anyway, like he’s absolutely certain that anything Dylan laughs about must surely be hysterical, because that’s another thing he trusts Dylan with completely and he’s not afraid to show it, and that – that’s too much to take in, even now.

He shouldn’t have let things go this far, Dylan knows that. How a dumb dare managed to turn into this avalanche of emotions is beyond him, but he thinks he could have done something about it if he had stopped at that first kiss, if he hadn’t craved more, hadn’t taken more without worrying about the consequences. But the avalanche is crushing him now, oxygen not finding any way to enter his frightened lungs, and he’s the only one to blame.

Or. Maybe not.

He remembers silly conversations that bring a smile to his lips, teasing but understanding voices telling him to get his shit together and stop being a chicken.

It’s Kaya’s fault for encouraging him, he concludes, pouting just a little. And Posey’s. He’ll have to call him to complain about it later.

For now, he goes back to kissing Thomas as if his life depended on it.

~

The thing is, they’ll be saying goodbye in a few days and won’t see each other again until July.

And Dylan is not even doing it on purpose, he’s just busy filming his scenes with Rosa, and by the time they finish they’re both so tired that they have to lean on each other to keep standing upright even as Wes praises them enthusiastically, radiating excited energy at all times.

He’s not actively avoiding Thomas, there’s just too much going on at the moment for Dylan not to focus on his work with everything he has. And if he starts ignoring the late-night knocks on his door – it’s no one’s business but his own.

~

“Got a minute?”

Dylan smiles in response, moving out of the way to let Kaya come up into his trailer. “What’s up, princess?”

“M’not entirely sure, to be quite honest.” Her eyes roam over his face, wide and strikingly blue as ever. “I came to ask what’s going on with you and Thomas and why you’ve been such an arse to him lately, but the kicked puppy face kind of makes me want to mum you.”

Dylan snorts, feeling equal parts defensive and upset. “Okay, no, I haven’t –”

“Talked to him in days, I know,” she cuts him off. “Everybody knows. And whenever he tries to come to you, you pretty much run the other way. But I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose, let alone someone you care about like I know you care about him, so I thought maybe you’re having some sort of freak out over your kissing thing –”

Dylan swallows hard. She knows? Since when? Did Thomas tell – of course it was Thomas who told her, it’s not like there was anyone else who knew about them, what the fuck is he supposed to do now –

Kaya notices his reaction and rolls her eyes. “Oh come on,” she says, sounding endlessly exasperated. “You know he tells me everything.”

“Yeah, well,” Dylan grunts, “I haven’t told anyone.”

It doesn’t bother him that Kaya knows. Not really. They never agreed to keep it a secret or anything, so it’s perfectly fine that Thomas told her. It’s just. Thomas never seemed as affected by their – thing, whatever, as Dylan felt, didn’t seem to worry about what was going to happen and what they were going to do after shooting wrapped. It was just a bit of fun for him, while Dylan knew he was going to miss Thomas so fucking much that his heart hurt just thinking about it.

He’s missing him already.

Rubbing his eyes, he drops into an armchair, suddenly feeling exhausted to the bone.

He hears Kaya come to stand behind him, her slender arms encircling his neck as she bends over to press her cheek against his. “Not even Tyler?” she asks softly.

Dylan shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Oh, love.”

“No, it’s not like – it’s fine,” he tries, lifting a hand to lace their fingers together. “I’m just being stupid, really. And you’re right, I’ve been kind of a dick.” He shakes his head again, letting out a bitter chuckle. And it’s like a dam breaks then, words pouring out of him with a vengeance. “I’m fucking up our friendship, which is exactly what I hoped I wouldn’t end up doing. I just. I’m gonna miss him, you know? We won’t be seeing each other for, like, half a year, and I’m gonna miss him, I’m gonna miss you all, but it’s fucking different with him now, isn’t it? I – I fucked up. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Stop that,” Kaya says sternly, tightening her grip around his shoulders. “You’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. You’re genuinely good and kind and easy to love.” She pauses to drop a light kiss on his temple. “But so is he. He’s talented and dedicated and funny, and with you he’s – well. He’s not afraid to show you glimpses of himself he isn’t comfortable sharing with the rest of the world yet. No one can get him to loosen up like you do.” She sighs. “You didn’t fuck up, love. Things like this really do happen when you least expect them to.”

Dylan nods, turns her hand so that he can press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad, he thinks – she was supposed to be his little sister, but here she is, looking after him, giving him advice for a broken heart that ended up in that state by accident. He loves her, he loves her so much.

Breathing a little easier, he lets his head fall back onto the headrest and tries to give Kaya an honest smile. “Just – just don’t tell him, okay?” he pleads shyly.

Kaya smiles against his cheek. “Of course not. That’s your job.”

~

Dexter snaps up the Batman mask right from under his fingers and runs away, laughing like he just won the lottery or something, while Dylan glares and makes bullshit threats that even he has to laugh at.

Kat nudges his shoulder and offers the kitten glasses with a shrug, letting him know that she’s willing to share. Grinning, Dylan wraps an arm around her small figure and kisses her forehead before he grabs the glasses and puts them on.

He runs to Dexter and jumps on his back. “Well screw you, I’m a cute kitty!” he yells, still laughing as Dexter carries him to the photo booth.

It’s how he spends most of the night, taking pictures with the cast and all the crew members that are present, pulling faces and enjoying every moment to the fullest. He messes with Ki Hong’s hair, dances with Rosa until they can barely stand on their feet, and does a very enthusiastic karaoke version of “Shake It Off” that has Jacob crying tears of laughter.

He still doesn’t talk to Thomas.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just doesn’t know how to begin. He watches from afar as Thomas takes pictures with the girls, lets Dexter and Jacob cuddle him, leans onto Ki Hong when he casually slings an arm around Thomas’s waist.

Like Dylan used to do. Like he doesn’t dare to anymore.

He stands aside, taking a sip of his drink every now and then, making conversation whenever someone comes up to him. Mostly, he just waits. For an opportunity, for a sign that he should approach Thomas and stop acting like a tongue-tied twelve year old.

Finally, he decides to make a move when he hears Thomas let out an indignant “Hey!” and looks over to where Thomas was playing ping pong with Dexter to see him with his arms thrown up. There’s a wide smile on his lips though, eyes sparkling in a way they do only when he’s genuinely amused. Dylan doesn’t get it until he notices that Dexter ditched Thomas and is currently busy taking selfies with Kat and Nathalie.

Squaring his shoulders, he lets his wobbly legs carry him to where Thomas is now laughing into his hands. The corners of his mouth turn upwards into a careful smile.

“Batman isn’t being very loyal tonight,” he says, waiting for Thomas’s reaction with bated breath and a heart that’s fluttering impatiently inside his ribcage.

Thomas shrugs, in a resigned, what-can-you-do kind of way. “Could’ve been worse, he could have abandoned me in a life or death situation, the bastard,” he jokes, and then nods at the paddle Dexter left on the table. “This, though? I reckon I’ll survive.”

Dylan chuckles awkwardly, too aware of the distance between them and the words they’re not saying. They can’t do this. Shouldn’t do this. Pretend nothing happened, pretend that the last few days haven’t been weird as fuck, that things are fine when they obviously aren’t.

“Hey, uh. Wanna go outside for a sec?” His nails are digging painfully into palms, teeth leaving marks on his bottom lip while he waits for Thomas to respond. It’s worth it, Dylan thinks. It’s worth it, because Thomas nods and leads the way and nothing else matters in that moment. Behind them, Bruno Mars keeps singing about making dragons want to retire

The frosty January air greets them when they step outside, blowing sharp against their cheeks, and they both pull their jackets tighter around themselves for warmth. With trembling fingers Dylan lights up a cigarette, taking a long drag as if the nicotine could lend him the courage he feels he’s left inside along with the honest words he had planned to tell Thomas.

“Thought you wanted to talk,” Thomas says, quirking an eyebrow as he gives Dylan a questioning look. He sounds confused, like he genuinely doesn’t understand what they’re doing out here.

Truthfully, Dylan doesn’t either. He thought he knew, it was his plan after all, but –

Without warning Thomas takes the cigarette from his hand, brings it to his own lips. Dylan wonders if he should look away, act like he doesn’t want to look at Thomas’s mouth, like he doesn’t remember how it feels to have those lips pressed against his. And, while he tries to make a decision, he keeps staring.

“Look,” Thomas begins, giving him the cigarette back. “I know we haven’t discussed this properly, but I thought it was clear we wouldn’t let it make things awkward between us.”

“S’not awkward,” Dylan mumbles, frowning down at his feet. This is not going well at all. He was supposed to apologize and explain but it’s like his goddamn brain has frozen.

“Really?” Thomas lets out a humorless chuckle. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Dylan sighs, dragging a cold hand over his face. “That’s not what – I was just thinking, okay? Overthinking, really. Like, we won’t be seeing each other for months after tomorrow, right? So I thought – I thought it would be better if we didn’t. You know. If we kept our distance and stopped with the kissing and everything since we’re not gonna have that anymore. Because I’m going to miss you so fucking much anyway, I don’t need you to kiss me till the last day and then just be gone and make me miss you even more.” His voice cracks on the last words. It’s embarrassing. It’s so fucking embarrassing, he hates everything.

“You’ve not done it with the others,” Thomas points out, voice unsurprisingly coming out strong and even. He folds his arms across his chest. “I’m the only one you’ve been pushing away.”

“Yeah, well,” Dylan breathes out harshly, a tiny cloud of fog forming in front of his mouth. “You’re also the only one I’ve been making out with for the past month, aren’t you?”

He clenches his jaw, stubbing out the cigarette with more force than necessary. Unwanted anger is flaring up inside him, but he’d rather let that take control of him than show how vulnerable he is, how stupidly weak he’s feeling right now. So, it was pointless. Putting himself out there, confessing, admitting he’s been acting like an idiot out of fear and self-preservation. What good did it do, he’s hurting and Thomas doesn’t care and everything fucking sucks.

“You know what, just forget it,” he says wryly, shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug. “It’s not like –”

But suddenly there are hands cupping his freezing cheeks, and Thomas seals their lips together before Dylan can even begin to feel surprised. Hesitating slightly, Dylan wraps his arms around Thomas’s waist and pulls him closer, a contented sigh escaping his lips and disappearing into Thomas’s mouth in the same instant. The kiss turns rough without warning, teeth tugging on lips and biting down mercilessly, feels almost punishing in its intensity. Their mouths are pressed together so tightly that Dylan can’t even think of anything other than swollen, bruised lips, an argument carried out without words or physical blows. It’s only just starting to sink in that this is really happening when Thomas abruptly pulls back and punches Dylan in the shoulder.

“Did it cross your mind at any point that I might be feeling the same?” he demands, his tone accusatory, coal-brown eyes on fire. “No, of course not, because you never bothered to talk to me and tell me what the bloody fuck you’re thinking. You just had to go and act like you’re the only one affected by – by all of this. Well, fuck you and your self-centeredness.” He looks like he’s going to throw another punch, then seems to think better of it and pushes at Dylan’s shoulders instead. He either isn’t trying very hard or Dylan is so completely frozen he can’t feel a thing anymore.

“I’m sorry?” he tries meekly. He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question, he truly does regret his behavior. But Thomas’s outburst is messing with his head in the strangest way possible, and it’s – there’s something undeniably satisfying about making Thomas loose his cool, debonair attitude finally giving way to raw emotions.

It’s also hilarious.

Dylan starts laughing so hard he sounds almost hysterical, and if he’s being honest that’s exactly how he feels. There’s just too much that he kept bottled up inside and now it’s all bursting to the surface, a kaleidoscope of sensations that’s stopping him from thinking straight. But when he looks up, cheeks hurting from laughter, he notices Thomas is in a similar state, lips spread in a giant grin, eyes glinting like supernovas.

“I really am sorry,” Dylan repeats as he throws his arms around Thomas again, giggling when he feels a cold nose nuzzling the side of his neck. “For what it’s worth,” he adds, pulling back to look Thomas in the eye, “I promise not to do it again. I’ll come talk to you about stuff. Won’t let the worst-case scenarios in my head get the best of me.”

Thomas gives him a solemn look that makes Dylan’s heart do a nervous, unfamiliar dance. It’s not unpleasant, though. Not at all. “It’s worth a lot,” Thomas murmurs, a softness in his voice that Dylan’s only now realizing he’d been missing.

Taking a steadying breath, he shifts closer again, thumb brushing over Thomas’s cheekbone. “I just – I have no idea what I’m doing, man,” he explains, a self-deprecating laugh leaving his mouth whether he likes it or not. “You should know that. I’m – I’m at a total loss here. I never –”

Thomas nods before Dylan can continue, his gaze falling to the ground. “That makes two of us,” he says quietly, but when he looks up his eyes are ablaze with fierce determination. “I don’t mind.”

And that – that is the reassurance Dylan never even dared to ask for.

Letting out a relieved sigh, he presses a lingering kiss to Thomas’s lips. “So. We’re in this together, then?” He can feel the corners of his mouth twitching up. “We’re all in this together?”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “Given it’s just the two of us, I’m not sure I understand what you mean by all. Also, you’re terrible and so are your puns.”

“I’m adorable and you like me. You _like_ me, like me.”

“I’m still trying to figure out why, you truly are absolutely terrible.” Thomas pokes him in the ribs when he starts laughing again. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Dylan is willing to bet the unimpressed look Thomas shoots him at that can rival the one Holland and Colton gave him when he tried to tell them a knock-knock joke a few years back. It cracks him up. But he gets himself under control and instead of cackling he pulls Thomas in for another hug.

“Hey,” he begins, somewhat insecure, but fuck if he’s going to back down now. “You know that I’m going back to Cali on Monday, right?”

Thomas hums noncommittally.

“Well, uh,” he continues, throat going dry with nerves. Which is stupid, he hadn’t been nervous the first time he asked Thomas what he’s about to ask now. Then again, things are a bit different this time. “We actually only starting shooting in, like, three weeks from now. I’m free till then. So, uh, you could. You know. You could come visit me. I mean, if you want to.”

Dylan feels Thomas answer before he even says a word; feels lips curving against his neck, a warm puff of breath tickling his skin.

“Yeah,” Thomas says, pulling back to give Dylan a bashful smile. “I’d like that.”

Later, after Dylan makes fun of Thomas’s sorry excuse for a mask and calls him handsome while poking at the moustache on a stick the next second, they all squeeze together in the photo booth, barely fitting in but laughing all the same, and Dylan thinks he may be a little drunk on happiness.

~

The problem with their schedules is that they’re a nightmare. Dylan is basically living on the Teen Wolf set, Thomas has his own projects that keep him busy; he and Kaya can’t even make it to Ki Hong’s wedding, which Dylan swears is some sort of punishment from whichever deity is bored enough to pay attention to them and believes Dylan needs to be taught a lesson about teasing his co-stars.

So what if he’s being overdramatic, it’s freaking April and he and Thomas have only managed to see each other via Skype calls and random pictures.

Besides, he’s kind of grumpy because he and Posey had to get up early to shoot an outdoor scene – which would have been perfectly fine if it hadn’t started pouring as soon as they got on location. So now, instead of working, they’re hiding in Posey’s trailer, waiting for the weather to calm down.

“The guys want to go out tonight,” Posey announces, loudly, when Dylan is in the kitchenette, making himself another cup of coffee. “What d’you want for dinner?”

“Whatever you pick,” he mumbles as he returns to the living area, where Posey is slumped on the couch, tap-tap-tapping away at his phone with a blinding smile, dimples out in full force.

Dylan pouts. It doesn’t bother him that Posey gets along so well with the other boys. That would be stupid, he’s close with them too, but today – today he’s in bad a mood because of the weather and he misses Thomas so much it actually angers him, and he just doesn’t feel like sharing his best friend. So he lets himself fall clumsily onto the couch and tucks his face in the crook of Posey’s neck.

“You planning on leaving me for Cody and Sprayberry?” It’s an important issue, he needs to know the truth.

Posey grins but doesn’t look up from his phone. “Was thinking about it, yeah.”

Dylan huffs. “Thanks, man. At least my wounded ego can take some pride in knowing that it takes the both of them to replace me.”

“C’mon babe, you know you’re my one and only,” Posey laughs, kissing the top of his head. He puts an arm around Dylan’s shoulders, hand coming up to play with the short hair at his nape. “So. Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Dylan tenses unwittingly, feeling the corners of his mouth turn down in a displeased grimace. It’s not like he thought Posey hadn’t noticed. He notices everything about Dylan, from the subtlest mood swings, to new bruises and scratches that Dylan had no idea he’d acquired. But he was kind of hoping Posey wouldn’t bring this up. Because of reasons.

“What makes you think there’s something wrong?” He wraps both arms around Posey’s middle, snuggling closer to him.

Posey pokes him in the cheek. “It’s nine a.m. and you already had three cups of coffee and instead of doing backflips you’re being all pouty and clingy,” he deadpans. “So, what happened?”

When Dylan keeps quiet for way, way longer than he normally would, Posey pulls back, eyes comically wide and concerned like Dylan’s never seen them before.

“Oh shit,” Posey groans. “What’d you do?”

Dylan gives him an apologetic smile. “Kinda kept something from you? About – Thomas.”

Maybe there’s something on his face that gives him away. Maybe it’s just how it is when you’re so close to someone that it almost feels like you’re sharing a brain sometimes. Maybe it’s just how the two of them work, knowing each other inside out to the point where words become superfluous and all they have to do to communicate is share a look. Whatever it is, it makes Posey pull Dylan back into a tight hug and say gently, “Tell me.”

And Dylan does. Gives him the long version of the story because he’s been keeping everything to himself for too long, but just the thought of telling Posey about whatever it is that he and Thomas have felt like a life-altering admission in a way that talking about it to Kaya hadn’t. It was too much, too soon, a secret Dylan knew that, once he shared it with Posey, had the possibility to become a constant in his life and he hadn’t been sure he was ready for that. Now though – it doesn’t scare him as much anymore.

“So you’re dating now?” is the first thing Posey asks him after a few minutes spent in comfortable silence.

Dylan rolls his eyes fondly, letting out a short, embarrassed laugh. “No, man, where did you get that from? We’re not – no one’s dating, shut up.”

Posey shrugs, eyes sharp but not judgmental. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Okay,” Posey agrees. “But that,” he adds, pointing in the general direction of Dylan’s face and then poking his nose, “that’s your lovesick face. I know your lovesick face. I know all your faces, so I know that one too.”

“Dude, no.” Dylan didn’t even know he had a lovesick face. “I don’t have a –” He sighs. That’s not the point. “Look, it’s not like. It’s just – a crush, maybe, you know? Not a big deal.”

Posey snorts. “Pretty sure it stopped being just a crush a long time ago, man.”

Dylan lowers his eyes, heart thumping anxiously between his lungs as the words sink in and make a home in his blood. Could be, he thinks. That still doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it out loud yet or that he’s going to let this feeling grow recklessly inside of him until he can’t breathe any longer. At least not until he makes sure he’s not alone in this. He won’t get lost inside his head again. He made Thomas a promise, after all.

“You know what,” Posey says, voice going soft again. “We can stay in tonight. Try to cook something.” He nudges Dylan’s thigh with his bent knee, an easy smile breaking across his face. “I promise to forgive you for not telling me sooner if you don’t burn down the kitchen this time.”

Dylan bursts out in a fit of genuine laughter.

~

So maybe July becomes his favorite month and San Diego his favorite place. And maybe there are moments when Dylan forgets he’s there because he’s supposed to promote a movie, not to make Thomas blush and giggle into his shoulder, but he finally gets to touch Thomas again, to breathe him in and taste his lips, so, naturally, anything else loses some of its importance. Including the fact that he’s some kind of Comic-Con royalty. It’s probably why he gets away with constantly being a cackling mess.

“You two are even weirder than usual, good to know,” Ki Hong tells them at some point, grinning. As if he hadn’t laughed so hard at one of Dylan’s dumb jokes that he fell off his chair.

They actually do manage to talk a bit about the movie, too, but most of their interviews consist of games and banter and nonstop laughter, and Dylan doesn’t stop with his antics since everyone seems to want to play along and gleefully encourages his overflowing happiness.

It’s all because of Thomas. He’s acting like a lovestruck teenager because of Thomas. So, really, he’s to blame for Dylan’s inability to answer serious questions like a sane person.

“Let’s never again do this thing where we don’t see each other for fucking ever, okay?” he says when they take a quick smoke break between interviews, finally getting the chance to be alone for a minute.

Thomas nods solemnly, a particularly miserable frown making its way onto his boyish face. There’s a strand of hair that keeps falling across his forehead, almost getting in his eyes, and he pushes it back with an exasperated sigh. It’s been happening all day. Dylan desperately tries not to find it cute.

“This one’s on me,” Thomas says as he comes to stand next to Dylan and gently knocks their shoulders together. “I’m sorry I couldn’t – that I let you get your hopes up. I suppose I need to work on my time management skills.”

An unhappy sigh escapes his lips and Dylan can’t hold back his laughter any longer. Thomas frowns again.

“Dude, you should see your face,” Dylan tells him, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. He gets himself under control when he notices Thomas’s confused look. “Hey, it’s fine. I missed you like crazy, yeah, but I was kinda prepared for it, you know? Like, I didn’t for one second think it would be easy, so stop blaming yourself like this. It’s not your fault a day has only twenty-four hours. Besides,” he grins, even though his heart is pounding as the words roll off his tongue, “we’ll get better at it.”

Thomas smiles so widely his eyes all but disappear. “Yeah?”

Dylan shrugs, schooling his features into what is meant to be an unfazed expression. He tries to, at least. “I mean. Remember how we said we had no idea what we’re doing?”

Thomas nods, reaching for Dylan’s hand inconspicuously, fingers barely brushing.

“Well,” Dylan begins, entangling their fingers because he’s too happy to worry about the whole subtlety thing right now. “You willing to learn with me?”

Letting out a laugh that makes Dylan knees go a little weak, Thomas nods again. “More than willing,” he promises before leaning forward and connecting their lips.

~

It’s thanks to Posey’s excited flailing that Thomas ends up taking pictures with them when they arrive at the Entertainment Weekly party, smiling pleasantly on Dylan’s right while forty-odd photographers keep yelling at them like they’re trying to outdo themselves in decibels. Dylan hadn’t even noticed him until Posey started waving his arms around, motioning for Thomas to come over, grinning and winking like an idiot at Dylan all the while. Dylan wanted to strangle him almost as much as he wanted to lean in and smack a kiss to his cheek. Posey’s ideas were brilliant when they weren’t potentially unsafe.

Dylan breathes a sigh of relief when they finally make their way inside, more than happy to leave the screaming photographers behind. He knows that they’re only doing their job, just like he is, but there’s something painfully intimidating about having dozens of people screech at you to smile that still gets to him, no matter how many red carpets he attends. The nerves slowly seep out of his body as they enter the venue, but he still keeps his spot between Posey and Thomas, fiddling with his baseball cap until he’s starting to feel marginally more comfortable. It doesn’t take long.

He and Posey introduce Thomas and Cody to each other, and then Posey clings to Thomas for a good five minutes because _dude, I haven’t seen you in forever_ , while Dylan has to bite his lips in order not to laugh and Cody just looks on, still a little overwhelmed by Posey’s everything.

“You’ll get used to it,” Dylan assures Cody, giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder.

They mingle with the other guests, saying quick hellos and occasionally sharing one-armed hugs, but they stick together for the most part, at least until Posey decides he can’t hold still any longer, grabs Cody’s hand and leads him to the dancefloor with boundless enthusiasm.

Dylan turns to Thomas with wide, imploring eyes.

Thomas snorts. “Absolutely not,” he says firmly, although his lips begin to curve upwards when Dylan pouts at him. He shakes his head. “Go on if you want to, but I’m not doing that.” Smiling softly, he squeezes Dylan’s hip and nods towards the bar. “I’m getting a drink, you want anything?”

“Whatever you’re having,” Dylan shrugs, already bounding over to the dancefloor. “You know where to find me!”

He can’t hear Thomas laugh, but he knows that he does. He _knows_.

“Where’d your boyfriend go?” Posey whisper-shouts when Dylan throws one arm around his shoulders and the other around Cody’s. They’re both grinning.

Dylan grins right back. “Aww, look at you two assholes, ganging up on me. He’s getting us drinks –” He pauses. “Oh, shit. I forgot about you. Did you want something? We can go to the bar and –”

But Posey starts cackling before Dylan can finish the sentence, and Cody is giving him this half-amused, half-confused look that’s sort of unsettling.

“What?” he asks warily.

Posey covering his face with his hands does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he’s still laughing like a stoned hyena. Dylan hates him. So much.

“It’s just,” Cody begins, pulling Posey into his side, which Posey takes as an invitation to lower his head and try to hide his laughter in Cody’s neck. “Is Thomas, like, your date tonight?”

“No. No!” Dylan flounders helplessly. “Why would you – no, we’re not – why –”

Posey pats him on the back and makes a mock-considering face. “I don’t know, man, you’re being all smiley and coupley and shit, and he just went to get you both drinks, but yeah, I have no idea why anyone would think that you’re –”

“Also, the pictures. Don’t forget the pictures,” Cody adds, making it clear on whose side he is, not that Dylan was expecting anything else.

He scowls at both of them. “Okay, first off, didn’t we all take pictures together? Did I dream that part?”

“You left like a foot between me and you and glued yourself to his side when he came over,” Posey argues.

Cody nods in agreement. “Totally. There was Ty and me, and then there was you and Thomas on, like, a completely different planet.”

Dylan hates them _so much_. “Okay, so going by that logic – what, are you two each other’s date too?”

They exchange a look Dylan can’t read, identical grins stretching across their faces, then shrug easily. “Sure,” they reply at the same time.

Dylan groans. “I hate you both.”

It gets even worse sometime later, when Sprayberry appears out of nowhere with a too-innocent face, pushes Dylan and Thomas together and tucks himself under Dylan’s arm saying that he wants a picture with the two of them. Dylan supposes he should have seen this coming.

“Okay, what’s this, embarrass Dylan day?” he asks no one in particular after the photographer leaves.

“That’s every day,” Sprayberry tells him serenely.

Dylan hates him too. He really does. “Did Posey put you up to this?”

Sprayberry gives him an almost offended look, which would probably work if Dylan didn’t know him well enough to recognize straight away when he’s acting. Lying. Whichever. In return, Dylan shoots him a pointed glare that actually makes Sprayberry deflate. Good.

“Not really,” he admits sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets, looking like the still somewhat awkward seventeen year old that he is. “Heard Ty and Cody talking and wanted to join in on the fun. I’d say sorry, except I’m – not.” He skitters away before Dylan can think of a good comeback, sporting a charming smile that’s guaranteed to get him in trouble.

All Dylan can do is sigh deeply. This is his life now.

He feels more than hears Thomas laugh behind him, warm breath tickling his ear, Thomas’s chest moving slightly against his back. Dylan elbows him in the stomach. Gently. Ish.

Thomas keeps laughing. “Is it me or they’re all up to something?”

They’re always up to something, is the truth, but Dylan is so used to being part of team, causing mayhem with the rest of them, that suddenly being on the receiving end of one of their pranks is sort of – weird. And embarrassing, because they’re dragging Thomas into it as well.

“They’re idiots, ignore them,” he whines, turning around fully prepared to pull Thomas in and peck his lips. Until he remembers where they are and the photographers milling around. “Shut up,” he mumbles pathetically when Thomas smirks at him. He’s going to have to add Thomas to the I Hate Everyone list too if he doesn’t stop with that. “They’re – couple pictures. I mean, they’re trying to make us take couple pictures. Or not, like, actual couple pictures, just –” God, why is he still talking, why can’t he stop talking, why does his mouth always want to embarrass him. “You know. Pictures where we look like a couple. It’s stupid, just ignore them, seriously.”

He’s wondering if there’s any point in hoping that the shiny floor could open up and swallow him whole when Thomas puts a hand on the small of his back and leans in like he needs to whisper in Dylan’s ear to make himself heard, but instead of saying anything he places a tender kiss on the side of Dylan’s neck.

“S’that a bad thing?” he asks, looking at Thomas with eyes that shimmer like young stars. “That they want pictures of us looking like –”

Thomas lets the sentence trail off, but Dylan can feel his heart going into overdrive anyhow. It isn’t – it isn’t a problem, and it definitely isn’t a bad thing, but they haven’t –

They haven’t yet said that they were –

They’ve never referred to each other as –

But maybe –

He shakes his head quickly to clear his thoughts. “Um. No? I mean, no. It isn’t. If you’re okay with it, that is.”

“They’re your friends,” Thomas tells him with a short laugh, hands coming to rest on Dylan’s hips. “It’s okay.”

“Huh,” says Dylan, feeling a little lightheaded. He isn’t drunk this time, he’s sure of that. It takes a minute for the words to register in his brain, but when they finally do, clear and bright like giant neon signs, Dylan starts to grin. “Does that mean – just making sure, okay? Does that mean that we’re –

Thomas nods, his lips curving into a gentle smile. “We are. We definitely are.”

~

He’ll call London a slip-up.

It isn’t that big of a deal, just a harmless hug, and the quality of the video isn’t great anyway, but still. He knows they have to be more careful in the future. Until it stops being something they need to be careful about.

But it’s for the first time on this press tour that he and Thomas are in the same country, in the same place at the same time, if only for a few hours, and saying goodbye is something neither of them wants to do so soon. It’s why they forget for a moment to keep the hug strictly platonic, forget that they aren’t even alone. Thomas wraps both arms around Dylan, tucking his face in the crook of his neck and rubbing his back to comfort him because Dylan still isn’t feeling well. Their hands linger on each other’s shoulders when they pull apart, gazes interlocked, and, a few nights later, as he watches the slightly blurry video online, Dylan recognizes the exact moment when he thought about leaning in and –

But he hadn’t. Hadn’t done it, hadn’t given their teams a reason to call and give them shit about it, so at least there’s that.

It doesn’t take long for it to become another thing he can laugh about with warm, rosy cheeks and a heart full of effervescent affection.

“Jesus, man,” Posey begins, his voice so vividly joyful even over the phone that for a split second Dylan can almost imagine they’re sitting together on the couch. “He looks at you like – like he never wants to let you go. It’s crazy, dude. It’s – really fucking awesome.”

“Dude, shut up.” There’s something about the way Posey sounds, unabashedly ecstatic and amazed, that makes Dylan want to bury his face in his own shoulder to hide the infatuated grin that’s tugging at his lips. He can’t even remember how long it’s been since he last felt like this. “It’s just – s’nothing.”

“Nah, it is. It’s really great,” Posey says, letting out a contented sigh. “Hey, man. You know I’m happy for you, right?”

Dylan feels another wave of heat rising to his cheeks, pushing them up into a smile that he knows won’t disappear anytime soon. “I – thanks, man. I know,” he mumbles shyly, wishing they could have this conversation in person, preferably a little tipsy, so that opening up like this wouldn’t cause him to blush over and over. “Sorry I’m being such a – I don’t even know.” He chuckles helplessly. “I’m nervous about tomorrow, I guess.”

“Dude, it’s okay,” Posey laughs. “You’re gonna be fine, you know that. You won’t be alone."

Closing his eyes, Dylan takes a deep a breath that helps his heart settle into an excited but less anxious rhythm. Posey’s right, he reminds himself. He won’t be alone.

~

He’s wearing a suit.

He’s wearing an actual suit and a fancy dress shirt because he’s been told he has to look like a presentable adult, it’s the New York premiere after all, and no, he isn’t allowed to wear a comfortable V-neck sweater this year or a baseball cap.

He feels like an idiot.

The feeling only intensifies once his eyes land on Ki Hong, who looks like a bonafide Hollywood heartthrob.

“Get the fuck outta here, dude,” Dylan tells him with a laugh and pulls him into a tight hug. “Get out, you’re not allowed to look like this. I thought I was supposed to be the star tonight.”

“I’m always stealing your spotlight, man, just accept it already.” Ki Hong pats him on the back, wide smile making his eyes turn into happy little slits. “Look at you, our handsome baby all grown up. How’d they get you into a suit?”

Dylan shrugs wryly. “Bribed me with chocolate.” He actually wishes that were true. “Where’s our third musketeer?”

“Uh. Behind you, actually.”

He turns around so fast it’s a little embarrassing, but he can’t find in himself to care about that when he notices Thomas making his way towards them, hands tucked in the pockets of his black jeans, lips curved into a familiar gentle smirk. And Dylan –

What Dylan wants to do is make another joke, pull Thomas into his and Ki Hong’s banter, keep it light and friendly. What Dylan ends up doing is smile like a smitten idiot as he slings an arm around Thomas’s waist, bringing the other hand up to let his fingers slide along the lapels of his jacket.

Thomas grins at him. “You’re wearing a suit,” he giggles, nose scrunched up in delight.

Dylan tries not to groan but does it anyway when Thomas puts one hand on his hip. “I know, I’m embarrassed, too. Can we just pretend I’m wearing normal clothes and that I maybe don’t look totally, absolutely terri –”

Thomas shakes his head, the fingers around Dylan’s hip tightening their hold. “I like it,” he says, gaze unmistakably falling to Dylan’s lips for an instant. He looks up quickly and smiles again, a little shy this time. “You look good.”

Dylan wonders how obvious it is that his cheeks are on fire.

“Okay,” Ki Hong drawls suddenly, giving them both an amused glance. “Not that you two aren’t diabetes-inducingly cute, but could you continue after we finish our job here? Unless you want to share some big news that isn’t related to the movie with these guys.” He points over his shoulder at all the reporters and photographers with a cheeky grin.

Dylan nods, unable to fight off a grin of his own. “Yeah, okay,” he says firmly, professional smile back in place. “Let’s do this.”

And when they all stand in a line for the group pictures, laughing and pulling faces and generally being less serious than the occasion calls for, Dylan keeps an arm wrapped tightly around Thomas’s middle.

He knows what it looks like. He knows that it will most likely get the fans talking again.

He doesn’t mind.

It’s not like this time they’d be wrong to assume that he and Thomas are, in fact, dating.


End file.
